Dang Redheads!
In 3rd grade every Friday we were required to turn in a short story of sorts that we had written that week. On Monday if our papers had received no strange red pencil marks from the teacher we would be recognized and rewarded with a chocolate M&M. Every week I toiled over my papers and every week I was beaten out by Jordan, the beautiful red-headed genius whom I was extremely jealous of.
In Jr. High my teacher seemed to have given up on having us write and instead forced us to read silly murder mystery books. I loved classic literature at the time and hated reading books I felt were below me. The only writing we ever did in that class was the dreaded book report. I tried to seriously analyze Christopher Pike and ended up with my first B grade ever. I hated that teacher. She was a red head, but I didn’t feel she was a very smart.
In High School we must have spent the large portion of 11th grade English class studying The Crucible. We read the play as a class, watched the movie, listened to it on tape, and made masks of the characters. Jennie sat next to me in class. She was the lead in all the schools plays and loved scripts. She was the teacher’ pet because she could read with perfect diction and always had some theatrically driven incite to share. Was it coincidence that she had long crimson colored hair? Maybe.
I share these stories because that really sums up my pre-college experience with writing. I remember more about how they caused a mounting dislike for red hair then an improvement in my essays. I hesitate to even refer to them as English classes. If it wasn’t for my love of reading I wonder if I would ever been able to write a sentence.
It was in college that I finally began to learn how to write. English 1010 and 2010 were classes most students dreaded, I soaked them in. I loved the process of thinking that we were taught to use. I liked to brainstorm. I liked to not only figure out what to write about but, with the help of teachers, I liked to figure out why I wanted to write about certain things. I loved learning how to organize my thoughts and clarify their meanings. I remember learning what warrants and supports were in an argument for the first time and thinking that my world would never be the same. I had unlocked the mysteries of everything I would ever read from then on out.
I completely agree with Murray’s prewriting, writing, and rewriting. It is something that must be taught and needs to be taught correctly. As far as all of his implications go I’m not sure I can agree so quickly. Writing needs to be guided and nursed by teachers that will ask you questions that will make you think. New writers need questions asked that will help them understand why they are writing and will guide their purpose to have greater clarity for them and others.
Teachers need to be taught to help their students find a purpose in writing not give them hours and hours to find their own. They need guidance not time. They need to feel a teacher’s excitement for writing instead of a teachers dread at reading their papers. Also I know that I needed teachers who would teach English and writing instead of wasting my time with busy work and the competition of various redheads.
In Jr. High my teacher seemed to have given up on having us write and instead forced us to read silly murder mystery books. I loved classic literature at the time and hated reading books I felt were below me. The only writing we ever did in that class was the dreaded book report. I tried to seriously analyze Christopher Pike and ended up with my first B grade ever. I hated that teacher. She was a red head, but I didn’t feel she was a very smart.
In High School we must have spent the large portion of 11th grade English class studying The Crucible. We read the play as a class, watched the movie, listened to it on tape, and made masks of the characters. Jennie sat next to me in class. She was the lead in all the schools plays and loved scripts. She was the teacher’ pet because she could read with perfect diction and always had some theatrically driven incite to share. Was it coincidence that she had long crimson colored hair? Maybe.
I share these stories because that really sums up my pre-college experience with writing. I remember more about how they caused a mounting dislike for red hair then an improvement in my essays. I hesitate to even refer to them as English classes. If it wasn’t for my love of reading I wonder if I would ever been able to write a sentence.
It was in college that I finally began to learn how to write. English 1010 and 2010 were classes most students dreaded, I soaked them in. I loved the process of thinking that we were taught to use. I liked to brainstorm. I liked to not only figure out what to write about but, with the help of teachers, I liked to figure out why I wanted to write about certain things. I loved learning how to organize my thoughts and clarify their meanings. I remember learning what warrants and supports were in an argument for the first time and thinking that my world would never be the same. I had unlocked the mysteries of everything I would ever read from then on out.
I completely agree with Murray’s prewriting, writing, and rewriting. It is something that must be taught and needs to be taught correctly. As far as all of his implications go I’m not sure I can agree so quickly. Writing needs to be guided and nursed by teachers that will ask you questions that will make you think. New writers need questions asked that will help them understand why they are writing and will guide their purpose to have greater clarity for them and others.
Teachers need to be taught to help their students find a purpose in writing not give them hours and hours to find their own. They need guidance not time. They need to feel a teacher’s excitement for writing instead of a teachers dread at reading their papers. Also I know that I needed teachers who would teach English and writing instead of wasting my time with busy work and the competition of various redheads.
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